


What the Lobster Weaves

by elistaire



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Mystery, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan Murray has gone missing, and his wife, Ivy, calls in Duncan for help.  Since jonathan is a pre-immortal, Duncan assumes the worst.  When Jonathan is found, he is very ill, and  he isn't pre-immortal anymore, and he isn't immortal.  He's mortal. Grim and determined, Duncan and Methos investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Lobster Weaves

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated against his leg. Duncan gave Methos an apologetic look and put down his beer to retrieve his phone. 

"MacLeod here," he said. 

The voice on the other end was not instantly recognizable. "Mr. MacLeod, thank goodness I found you. This is Ivy Murray, Jonathan's wife."

"Ivy, hello," Duncan said, his stomach tightening. He didn't know Ivy closely at all, so it didn't bode well that she was calling him. 

Across the table, Methos must have caught the hesitation in his voice, because he set down his own bottle and gave Duncan his full attention. 

"I'm so sorry to bother you, but I didn't know who else to call. I was hoping Jonathan was with you? Or that you know where he might be?"

"No, I don't. I haven't seen him since the last time he brought you around to the bar for New Year's Eve."

"Oh, I see."

Duncan could hear the severe disappointment in her voice, and possibly a hint of despair. "What's going on?"

"He was supposed to meet me, and he didn't. I haven't heard from him in hours. This just isn't like him. I'm afraid…I think he's *missing*." 

Duncan scowled at the information. "Where are you?"

"Home. He should have been here hours ago. He doesn't answer his cell phone. Mr. MacLeod--"

"Duncan, please."

"Duncan. He doesn't have any family, just me. I can't imagine where he is."

"Your house is on the end of Mayapple Street, right?"

"Yes. The blue one. In the cul-de-sac."

"Sit tight. I'll be right there. Less than ten minutes."

"Thank you, Duncan. Thank you."

Duncan hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. 

"Trouble?" Methos asked. He was already standing, coat on, waiting for Duncan. 

"Yes, but it doesn't have to be yours."

"What's yours is mine, what's mine is yours. Sounds like someone needs assistance. Anyone I know?"

"Yes." Duncan shrugged into his coat. "I'll tell you on the way." They weaved their way to the door, giving a quick good-bye wave to Joe at the bar. 

" _Our_ kind of trouble?" Methos asked as they headed for the parking lot. 

"Maybe," Duncan answered. Neither of them said anything else until they were in Duncan's car and on their way. "It was Ivy, Jonathan's wife," Duncan explained as he turned out of the parking lot. 

"Doesn't ring any bells."

"It shouldn't. Jonathan's not one of us. Yet." 

"Ah." Methos scrunched down in his seat. "Let me guess. He's missing."

"Yep." Duncan glanced at Methos, but the man's face was placid. "So it could be nothing. Not everyone becomes Immortal."

"You think so?" Methos drawled. "Ever met anyone who didn't later become Immortal?"

Duncan had to think about that. "I'm not sure," he finally said. "But it must be." The hair at the base of his scalp prickled at the implications of Methos' words. But it was all just philosophy. They could debate physics and metaphysics some other night. "You have met them both. New Year's Eve."

"Hmm." Methos was quiet for a long moment, obviously thinking back, drawing on his memories of that night. "Tall, thin man. Dark hair, kind of shaggy. Too pretty for his own good."

"That's him." 

"She was a lovely thing, too. Petite. Big eyes."

Duncan chuckled. "Yes. That's her."

"How long have they been married?"

"Not quite a year."

"Pity," Methos said. 

Duncan parked on the street and very carefully studied the landscape as he got out of the car. It was a quiet seeming neighborhood. Houses lined the street and the Murray's house shared the cul-de-sac with one other house, which had children's toys littered all over the driveway and lawn. The streetlights were spaced a little too far apart, but were bright and well maintained. He could see the flickering light of televisions going in most of the houses.

"Nice neighborhood," Methos said, and Duncan was sure that he'd done his own careful look over of the place. 

The door opened just as they started up the driveway, silhouetting Ivy in the bright light of the doorway. "Duncan?" she called out softly. 

"Yes," he replied. "And I brought a friend with me." They stopped at the doorway. "This is Adam Parker. I think you met at the New Years Eve party."

"Oh, yes, we must have. I'm sorry I don't remember you." She motioned for them to come in and closed the door.

"That's okay. I don't really remember you either." Methos smiled his disarming, bookish Adam smile. "Duncan said you needed some help."

"It's my husband. Jonathan. He's missing." She led them over to the kitchen table which was scattered with notes, a phone book, and an address book. "I'm going out of my mind. I've called everyone I can think to call. No one knows where he is."

Duncan gently took her hands and sat down in one of the chairs, encouraging her to sit down across from him. She pulled one hand free to chew on a fingertip and blinked back tears. 

"Tell me what happened from the beginning."

"I-I…he…." Ivy took a moment to catch her breath and when she began again her voice was strong and clear. "We were supposed to meet this afternoon for lunch. A Valentine's Day lunch a day early since he had a heavy workload tomorrow, but he didn't show up. I called work, but they didn't know anything. At first I just thought maybe he'd forgotten, or had car trouble, or…I don't know. Something. But it's nearly midnight now and I haven't heard from him for hours and hours."

"Think carefully. Did you notice anything amiss when you came home? Could he have been here sometime today?" 

Ivy shook her head. "I don't think so. The house was locked when I came home. Nothing was disturbed from this morning. The mail hadn't been brought in."

Duncan gave Methos a glance. He had been making the rounds through the rooms and was now leaning against the kitchen wall. He gave a quick shake of his head and Duncan breathed a sigh of relief. So, nothing to indicate a quickening had taken place anywhere near here. It was a small relief. Very small. 

Pre-immortals didn't release a quickening if they were beheaded before becoming fully Immortal, but Duncan had encountered not a few Immortals who weren't against waiting the short time it took for a mortally wounded person to die and revive. Then they just took the new Immortal's head, like the old idiom of fish, guns, and barrels. An Immortal taking Jonathan's head in his own home was just one of many possibilities, though.

Duncan took stock. He didn't know where they might look. It was a big city out there and Jonathan could be anywhere. What he really wanted to do was get to the city morgue and see if any John Does had come in. It could have been anything--a car accident, a slip on an icy sidewalk, a bite of bagel that went down the wrong way. "I think you need to call the police. They have a lot of resources and time is of the essence."

"But what if he's just…." Ivy shook her head. "You're right. Better safe than sorry. He'd have called me if he could." She reached out for the phone. 

"One thing," Methos said after she got off the phone with the police and they were waiting for the officers to respond to the house, "you could give your credit card company a call. See what the last time of purchase was."

"Oh, that's a good idea," Ivy said, clearly glad to have something to do other than just wait. She grabbed the phone again. 

Methos pulled Duncan aside. "One of us needs to get to the M.E.'s office."

"That's what I was thinking."

"Better be me, then. You know the Murrays better than I do."

Duncan handed over his keys. "Don't forget to come back and get me."

Methos placed a hand over his heart. "You wound me, sir."

Duncan gave him a good hard push toward the door and then went back to sit with Ivy while they waited for the police. 

~~~

Methos looked grim when he returned, which seemed to conveniently be just after the police left. Duncan wouldn't have bet a dime on that kind of coincidence. 

Ivy was in the kitchen, cleaning mugs and spoons. 

"Any luck?"

"None. Quiet as a church, actually." Methos waved a hand at the kitchen. "What happened?"

"What you'd expect," Duncan replied. "They took the report, promised to do all they can. They've put out a call on Jonathan's car. We can only hope for the best."

"How's she holding up?"

"Pretty well, considering." Duncan rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "She's tougher than she looks."

Ivy popped around the corner. Duncan noticed that her eyes were red, she'd probably been crying in the kitchen where he couldn't see. "Adam, can I offer you some coffee?" She held up the pot, which still held dark brown fluid on the bottom. "There's just a cup left, I think."

"I'd love some," Methos said. "Milk or cream, if you have it."

"Let me check," she said. 

"I think I should stay the night," Duncan murmured. "I don’t want to leave her alone. You can take the car and come back for me in the morning."

Methos shook his head and glanced at the sofa and loveseat. "No, I'll stay. But I get the couch, MacLeod."

Duncan smiled. "Of course you do."

"I've got skim milk," Ivy said as she came back through the doorway. She waggled the carton. 

"That's fine," Methos said and followed her into the kitchen. 

Duncan quietly stepped outside the house and called Joe Dawson on the cell phone. When he came back in, Methos had two piles of blankets, one on the couch and one on the loveseat. 

"She's gone to bed. I had her take an anti-histamine. It should help make her a little drowsy."

"Good thinking," Duncan approved. He fluffed up the pillows and unfolded the blankets. Methos switched off the light and they both settled down in their respective places. 

In the darkness, Methos asked, "Joe know anything?"

Duncan wasn't even surprised Methos had guessed who he'd called. "No. But he said he'd let us know if he heard anything about a new Immortal popping up." 

"If he finds a teacher before we find him, we should probably let well enough alone."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Duncan said. "I'm more worried that he'll meet up with a hunter, someone playing the Game." He resettled himself in his nest of blankets. "Go to sleep. We'll worry about it in the morning."

Methos snorted, but didn't push the conversation. A few minutes later, Duncan could hear him breathing softly and deeply, obviously asleep. Duncan wished he could drop-off so easily, but his worry for Jonathan, and also for Ivy, kept him awake. Poor Ivy. In essence, she'd just been widowed. With not even a full year of marriage. 

Duncan stared into the darkness. And the day before Valentine's Day. 

He must have slept at some point, because the next thing he knew, he was awake again, and it was day time. 

Methos was conscientiously folding his blankets and putting them on one end of the couch. "I started a pot of coffee," he said. "Ivy isn't awake yet." 

Duncan yawned and stretched, and got up. He felt rumpled from having slept in his clothes. His waist hurt where his belt buckle had pressed in all night. He should have taken it off, but he'd wanted to be able to be ready to go at an instant's notice. 

He took care of his morning necessities and then went to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

Methos leaned forward on his elbows and stared at him. "How attached are you to Jonathan?"

Duncan shrugged. "He's sort of like Claudia. I realized what he was and made the path a little easier for him when I could, from the sidelines. When he was older, I made friends, did a bit of mentoring, made sure the funds were there when he wanted to get an education."

"Very noble of you." The words would have rankled, except that Duncan could tell they weren't meant harshly. 

"We're all orphans. Some of us are luckier than others, some of us never have a place to call home."

Methos reached out and touched his hand, and looked like he was about to say something when the phone rang. 

Neither of them got to it before the ring cut off. A moment later, Ivy emerged from the bedroom, phone clutched to her ear. "When?" she asked, listening. "Where?" She looked up at Duncan. "University Hospital?"

Duncan nodded. "I know where it is."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Thank you." Ivy clicked the phone off. "He's at the hospital. They found him in his car this morning, in some parking lot."

"Get dressed," Duncan said. "And we'll go directly there." 

As she went into her bedroom to change, Duncan dug his keys out of his pocket. "We need to get him out of there before they realize what they have," he said, then saw that Methos was already on the phone to Joe. 

~~~

Joe was there when they arrived, but he was sitting by himself in a distant corner of the visitor's area, with a hat pulled down low, and his nose buried in a magazine. Duncan would have looked right past him if Methos hadn't nudged him and quietly called Joe to his attention. 

Perplexed, Duncan felt the anxiety building in him as Ivy sought out the room the receptionist at the information desk had indicated. What was Joe still doing here? Why was he blending in to the crowd? Had he been able to get Jonathan away? What had gone wrong?

Ivy spoke with the receptionist, who brought them to the waiting room, where another be-smocked person kept an eye on them and phoned that they were there. It felt like it was an interminable time in the room and Ivy looked ready to jump out of her skin every time someone came in the room and it wasn't the doctor they were waiting for. 

"Just breathe deeply," Duncan recommended. 

She reached out and squeezed Duncan's hand. "I can't say how much I appreciate your helping me. I can see why Jonathan considers you such a dear friend." 

Finally, a tall, dark-haired man with a nametag that read Dr. Seward came into the room. "Mrs. Murray?" he asked. At Ivy's nod, he continued, "The desk paged me and let me know you were here. I have some questions for you, and I want to update you on your husband's condition."

Duncan and Methos respectfully gave Ivy and the doctor some space and concentrated on pouring themselves more coffee. 

When Ivy turned to them, signaling that her conversation with Dr. Seward was at a close, they went to her side, and Dr. Seward led them out of the waiting room and to Jonathan's room. 

"I'll be back on rounds in a little while," Dr Seward said, and left. 

Ivy went in to the room and immediately to the one bed in the room that was occupied, reaching out to place her hand over her husband's. "Jonathan?"

Next to him Methos hissed under his breath. "We need to talk," he said. "Privately."

"I agree," Duncan said, numb and trying to grasp what his senses were telling him. 

Duncan pulled Methos out into the hallway, leaving Ivy and the doctor to discuss things, and they sought out a private space to talk. The room at the farthest end of the hallway was unoccupied and Duncan closed the door. 

They stared at each other for a moment. Duncan shook his head. "I don't know what to say." 

"So you felt it to," Methos confirmed. "Or rather didn't feel it. Well, now we know why Joe was hiding in the waiting area. We should call him and tell him we'll catch him up later. There's nothing he can do here." Methos pulled out his cell phone and made the call, promising Joe that they'd both give him the full details just as soon as they knew what the hell was going on themselves. 

"I don't understand it," Duncan said. "He's been destined to be one of us his whole life. You felt it, didn't you? New Year's Eve?"

"Yes, I felt it. He was pre-immortal. Then." Methos slipped his cell phone away. "But obviously not now. He's mortal as they come."

"But he *changed*. How? Have you ever come across this before?" Duncan paced the room. The enormity of Jonathan's condition was difficult to wrap his mind around, and he was too boggled by it to summon up anything more than rudimentary questions. "I've never even heard of it."

Methos glanced at his watch. "We've been gone too long. We need to get back to the room."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I don't have an answer to your question. This is just as much a mystery to me as to you. Come on." 

The doctor was gone when they returned to the room. Ivy was sitting in a chair at Jonathan's bedside, staring at him. She looked small and vulnerable to Duncan, and very young.

"What did the doctor say?"

Ivy fussed with the edge of the blanket. "He doesn't know what's wrong with him. They brought him in very early this morning and he was like this." She waved a hand. "He just thinks it is exposure, exhaustion. They can't figure out what is wrong with him, other than he's just unconscious. For no good reason." She smoothed down the blanket. "But he doesn't look well, does he? He looks terrible. Sick."

Jonathan didn't look very healthy to Duncan. His skin had a waxy sheen and he looked pallid. The area round his eyes was darkened, not quite bruising, but looking sunken. He was breathing steadily, and appeared most like he was just sleeping through a fever. He had an iv line that disappeared under the covers, dispelling the notion that he might wake up with a good shaking. 

Methos had taken a seat in the only other chair in the room and had crossed his arms over his chest. He stared at Jonathan, but his expression was unfathomable and Duncan couldn't guess what thoughts were running through his head. 

"Ivy, I--" Duncan didn't quite know what to say. He wanted to tell her it was just a matter of time and Jonathan would be well, but well-meant lies wouldn't do her any good. It was more serious than she even knew; the implications of it were just starting to sink in for Duncan. What they needed was someone with both medical knowledge and an understanding of immortality. Methos had once been a doctor, but not recently, and at the moment he didn't seem to be offering up any good ideas. Maybe they needed another opinion. Duncan decided to plunge ahead. "I have a friend who is a doctor. Let me give him a call and see if he can come up or consult, or something."

"You've been so kind already, Duncan." Ivy gave Duncan a quick look, fixing him with her large eyes, before turning back to Jonathan. Her grief was nearly palpable in the room, and her voice was thin. She seemed vulnerable and alone, sitting there at the bedside of her husband. It nearly broke Duncan's heart. "I so much appreciate any help you can give us. I don't know what we've done to deserve such friendship, but I thank you, and Adam, for it." 

"Whatever we can do to help, Ivy." He gave her a lopsided, one armed hug in the chair and he noticed that her eyes became watery. "Come on, Adam, let's find a quiet place to call from." He ushered Methos out the door to give Ivy some private time to weep. 

As they walked down the hall, Methos asked, "Who're you thinking of?"

"Gregor," Duncan said and the name brought a small smile to Methos' mouth. "You know him?"

"You might say that." Methos looked pleased, which allayed Duncan's fears about bringing two Immortals together, a prospect that oftentimes seemed foolhardy and ended in disaster. "It'll be good to see him again, it's been a while."

"For me also." Duncan fished out his cell phone and spent a few minutes tracking Gregor down. 

"Dr. Greg Porter here."

"Gregor, it's Duncan."

"Well aren't you a surprise out of the past. What's it been, fifteen years?"

"Something like that. I need your help, Greg."

"Sounds serious."

"It is." Duncan could hear the ruffling of papers as he explained the situation. 

"My god," Gregor said quietly and the paper ruffling ceased for a moment. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Hold on." There came the quiet clicking of a keyboard and a minute later Gregor told him the flight number. "It's the earliest flight I can get, so I'll see you in the morning. I'll get a rental at the airport. Can you fax me directions tonight?"

Duncan agreed and hit the off button. 

Methos was watching him with a calm expression. "So, he'll be here tomorrow."

"Yes." 

"Might I suggest a little detective work in the meantime?"

"The parking lot," Duncan said. 

"Something happened to him. There might be evidence."

Duncan thought for a moment, weighing the benefits against the dangers of looking into a situation that had been able to strip away an individual's pre-immortality. "Whatever happened to him might happen to us. Are you sure this is a can of worms that you want to open?"

"It's already open. MacLeod."

~~~

During their brief respite out of the room, Ivy had been contacted by both the hospital staff and the police. Both had given her paperwork to fill out, and it sat in a little stack off to the side. Duncan thumbed through it. 

Ivy waived him off. "I can take care of that, Duncan. I'll need something to focus on other than just sitting here and worrying." She scribbled down a few words on a pad of paper. "Here. The parking lot. The police said they looked the car over and found nothing, but left it where it was when they called for the ambulance." For the moment, she bristled with efficiency, and Duncan could see what it was that would have attracted Jonathan to her. She pulled a key off her chain and handed it over. "I really appreciate your retrieving the car. Honestly, I don't know what I would have done without the both of you."

Duncan touched her shoulder, trying to give her both sympathy and strength with that touch, and his words. He could imagine how she felt, and he wanted to do all he could to resolve it. "Just let us know if there's anything else we can do. Don't be afraid to ask."

She nodded, one of her hands covering one of Jonathan's, and Duncan and Methos left. 

It felt good to get outside into the sunshine. Even though it was a cold day and felt even brisker when the wind whipped up into his face, the sun on his back and neck felt welcome. 

They pointed the Thunderbird onto the highway and soon found the parking lot, which was the back lot for a very busy shopping mall. 

Methos reread the little piece of paper. "Area G4." He whistled as they pulled into the area. "Big lot."

"We'll find it. We'll just have to go row by row," Duncan said. 

"Hold on a second." Methos pointed. "Is that it?"

Duncan stopped his car and they both got out. "Looks like it. Good eyes. You stay here while I find someplace to park. Be right back."

Methos had the doors open and the contents in piles by the time he returned. 

"Anything?" Duncan asked.

Methos threw an appointment book up and Duncan caught it. "Paper bound. Very retro."

"It only covers the past few weeks," Methos said and held up a slim black data pad. "Looks like his digital date book died on him. I tried to start it up but it gave me some error messages. So he must have switched to paper until he bought a new one."

"Damn," Duncan said. If they'd had the digital date book they could have looked up all his contacts and appointments, probably his recent e-mails. He thumbed through the hen-scratched pages of the small paper book. "That's a bit of bad luck."

"It gets worse," Methos told him. He motioned to the piles of things in the car. "There's really nothing else in here."

"There's got to be some kind of clue," Duncan insisted. He started to go through the piles too, but mostly it was a lot of fast-food napkins and receipts for filling up the car. 

"Did Ivy mention to you what his last credit card purchase had been?" Methos asked. 

Duncan chucked three plastic soda bottles into the back seat. "She said he bought something from a convenience mart." He stopped. "Why?"

"I've got a hunch."

They locked the car and Duncan followed Methos into the mall. A quick scan of the directory and Methos set off. It was a short walk and he stopped in front a jewelry store. 

"You think he was going here?"

"Well, today is Valentine's Day. He might have been coming here to buy her something special." Methos looked thoughtful. "Of course, there're at least two sweet shops in the mall and one flower store. But for a first Valentine's Day as a married couple, I'd bet there were diamonds involved."

Duncan just raised an eyebrow and swept an arm forward to indicate Methos should lead the way inside. 

Several people were in the store, hunched over the glass display cases, and as soon as they ponied up to the bar, a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile came over to greet them. Her name tag read "Christina".

"Let me know if I can show you anything." She pointed to a sign nearby. "We're running a special for Valentine's Day that you might be interested in."

Duncan gave her his best smile. "Actually, we’re here to pick up something for a friend. Jonathan Murray. He put something on layaway."

"Let me check." She flashed another friendly smile at them and turned to look through a binder full of sales receipts and notes. 

Methos made a gesture and gave Duncan a quick scowl, but after Duncan's quick shake of his head, his expression eased into blankness again. 

Christina missed the entire exchange. She turned back around with a paper in her hand. "Yes, I found it. He put a deposit down on diamond pendant necklace. We expected him yesterday, but of course, with the deposit, we gave him a few grace days."

"Of course," Duncan murmured. "What's the balance?"

"Three hundred and forty seven." 

Duncan pulled out his wallet, ignoring the little sound that Methos made behind him. "Thank you for holding it for him. He got caught up, which is why he asked us to come and get it. It's for his wife, their first anniversary."

"Oh, that's so romantic. I love to hear who the gifts are for." Christina rung up the sale with efficiency. Then she produced the pendant out from the back where it had been squirreled away, and she wrapped it up in a small gift box with a red ribbon on it. Then she tucked that into a gift bag and handed it over. "Oh, wait--I almost forgot." She pointed to the sign again. "Our Valentine's Day Special. This purchase gives you a twenty percent reduction off any of our diamond-heart items."

Duncan skimmed the sign, but he couldn't think of anyone he'd want to give jewelry. Amanda was currently in the dog house over her latest scheme, and neither Joe nor Methos would be amused at getting diamond-heart bangles. "Thank you, but no." 

Outside the store, he and Methos stopped to stare down at the little gift bag. 

"Well, that was a bust," Methos said. "So we figured out that he was planning to buy a very pretty necklace for Ivy. But it didn't look like any of the store clerks were sporting a quickening they didn't own."

"No," Duncan said. He surveyed the corridor. Stores stretched down and across as far as he could see. "But I think we're on to something. Jonathan must have spent quite a bit of time here, picking out the perfect present. That wasn't an inexpensive bauble." He could see a pretzel stand a few stores away. "Come on. Let me buy you a pretzel. I think we should sit here for a while."

"A pretzel? Are you kidding me, MacLeod?"

"My treat. Come on. You like people watching."

Methos still looked incredulous, but he said, "Okay. Extra salt and double mustard." He plopped down in the nearest bench and made little shooing motions with his hands. "Go on. Fetch."

Duncan played along and gave a courtly bow. "As you wish, sir." Then he strode over to the pretzel stand to figure out what he wanted for himself. When he returned with pretzels and drinks, Methos was slouched down on the bench in a position of utter nonchalance, but he was also furiously looking around the mall. 

"What is it?"

"There's someone else here." 

Duncan sat down and calmly started to rifle through the pretzel bag. "Did you see who it was?"

"No. Soon as they felt me, they retreated."

Duncan handed the bag over. "These smell really good, by the way. Stay here," he added. "I'll take a walk, maybe flush whoever it is your way." Duncan took a moment to choose his path. Like most malls, this one was both overly large and too crowded at the same time. There were only a few pathways to choose, but the positioning of the elevators and escalators allowed for his quarry to either be quickly trapped, or to quickly escape. He really hated the logistics of malls. 

It was on his third sweep through the far section that he briefly brushed against another Presence. It grated along his nerves and he looked up and caught the attention of one of the mall security guards. The guard glared at him and slowly approached. 

She stopped a few feet away. "I don't want any trouble." 

"I don't either. Just shopping. Curious about who is around. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

She glanced over her shoulder in the direction that Methos was sitting, although he was far enough away that Duncan could barely see him. "Do you always travel in pairs?"

Duncan relaxed and tried his best to look non-threatening. "It's a mall. We came here for the shopping."

She didn't look appeased, but it was still a cute look on her, Duncan thought. If being generous, he'd have said she was of medium height, though she was so thin-boned that she seemed smaller, with wide-set eyes, and dark brown hair with a pronounced widow's peak that gave her face an angular aspect. "I'm working," she said, "so unless we need to talk about anything else, I'd like to get back to work." 

"Of course," Duncan said. "We'll be on our way soon." 

She walked backward until she was far enough away, then turned on her heel and was gone. 

Duncan walked slowly back to Methos. "No go," he told him. 

"What happened?"

"Lady security guard. Immortal, and not very interested in mixing with other Immortals."

"Security guard," Methos repeated. He chucked the pretzel bag and his drink in a trash can. "Come on, I want a coffee."

"Coffee?" Duncan asked as he followed him to the coffee shop. 

"Wait here," Methos ordered and then closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he was nothing but the friendly and geekish Adam, slightly bumbling, and totally endearing. He made his way over to the coffee stand, and when he returned with two outrageously foamy cappuccinos, he was grinning. 

"So?" Duncan asked as he accepted the cocoa-topped concoction. "What _is_ this?"

"Double espresso skinny mocha cappuccino. With a shot of mint. The girl up there swears by it." Methos took a sip of his own and paused to wave back to the coffee stand before giving a thumbs up sign. The girl at the counter waved back, clearly happy that she'd helped someone pick the best and most wonderful drink for the day. 

Duncan sipped at his own. It was delicious and he took another, longer draw. "It is good." He gave his own thumbs up sign and the girl at the counter practically lifted into the air. He grinned. "Making friends at the coffee shack, were you?"

Methos sucked at the foam on the top of his drink with a slurpy noise. "Um-huh." He started walking away and Duncan fell into step next to him. "Security guards hang out at coffee shops like children to an ice-cream truck. And the shop gives them free coffee since it's nice to have the security guards so close by. Robyn there is good friends with your lady security guard. Her name is Bayla Illamarc. Robyn's been here six months, Bayla was here when she got here."

"Nice work."

"Thank you."

"But it doesn't help us figure out what happened to Jonathan."

"No." 

Duncan suddenly didn’t feel like drinking the frou-frou concoction. He dropped it in the nearest bin. 

~~~ 

Methos took the Thunderbird back to the loft, and Duncan brought Jonathan's car to the hospital parking lot. He handed Ivy back the key, and escorted her down to the little cafeteria where he made sure she actually ate something. He also bought her an indigo colored throw-blanket from the gift shop. Visitor hours were going to be over soon, but arrangements had been made for her to stay the night, although she'd have to endure the uncomfortable shape of the room's hard-backed chair. 

Duncan would have preferred to bring her back home, so she could get a good night's sleep, but she'd insisted that she wanted to stay near Jonathan. Duncan couldn't blame her. After the hours he had been missing, and the state he'd been found in, he could understand why it was nearly impossible for her to tear herself away. 

Although finding him in his car had firmly pointed the suspicion toward the thought that the incident had happened there, Duncan harbored a slim worry that the house wasn't safe for Ivy. Since she wanted to stay, and Duncan wanted to get back to his loft so he could talk with Methos and Joe, he didn't argue very hard that she should go home. 

Duncan left Ivy with all the quarters he'd had in his pockets, in case she needed anything at the vending machine, and took a cab the short distance back to the loft. 

The sun had finally set and Methos was staring intently at the screen of his laptop, which was the only light source in the room. 

Duncan flicked on a light. "Your eyes will go bad," he said, even though he knew it wasn't true for an Immortal. Eye strain wasn't much of an issue either. 

Methos made a rude gesture and kept his eyes focused on his screen. 

Duncan grinned and ignored him. He puttered around in his kitchen for a minute, putting away now-dried dishes from the rack, and examining his freezer for what might become dinner. He pulled out a plastic container of leftover chili from when he'd made a huge pot of it for a Super Bowl party. He had day old bread and decided that a quick trip into the oven with some olive oil and garlic would turn it into a nice accompanying garlic bread. He got the dinner underway before he turned back to Methos. 

"Beer or wine for dinner?" he asked. 

Methos finally did stop staring at the computer screen. "Make a guess," he said. 

"Wine it is." 

Methos rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched with satisfaction when he saw Duncan pull two beers out instead of the threatened bottle of wine. He set his laptop down on the coffee table and came over to the kitchen-island. 

"How'd the research go?" Duncan asked as he pulled open the oven door to give a glance at the bread. It still needed a little longer to get crispy. 

"Not encouraging." Methos opened his beer and took a long drink. "I gave the internet a quick look, just to see if there were any diseases or conditions that could be associated, but that turned up nothing. I did a search on the journals I have in electronic form. Nothing. If I wrote about ever seeing this before, I don't remember it. And it'll take a while to retrieve the paper journals and reread them. But I don't think there's likely to be anything in them. And I gave the Watcher database a quick hack. Nothing there, either."

Duncan pulled the garlic bread out of the oven and he set it down off to the side. Then he gave the chili on the stove a stir. "It's ready." He retrieved two bowls from the cupboard and spooned a few generous dollops into each. "Did you send Gregor the directions?"

"Already done." Methos licked his spoon. "This is fantastic, by the way."

"Thank you." Duncan took a bite and was happy to note that it was indeed really good. In fact, he thought it might taste better now than on the day he'd made it. Freezers were truly wonderful inventions. 

They sat at the table and were quiet while they devoured the meal. At last they pushed their bowls away. With no more food to inhibit the conversation, they still stared at each other. 

"It doesn't look good, does it," Duncan said. 

"No," Methos answered. "It looks pretty bad. It's incredible in the first place that he could have somehow lost his quickening, but it's not a good sign that he's unconscious in the hospital. On the plus side, he's breathing on his own and not in cardiac arrest."

Duncan grimaced. "You say such sweet things."

"Just trying to be honest. And it's a pretty good sign, if you think about it."

Duncan finished off the last dregs of his beer and started to clear the table. "We aren't done investigating this. Something happened to him. Whether it was an encounter with an Immortal, some kind of super-flu-bug or disease, or whatever else it could be. It could happen to others. And maybe if we figure out what happened we can reverse it."

"In that case, we'd better hurry." Methos stood and put on his long coat. "Joe's waiting for us down at his bar. I asked him to look into some things."

Duncan dumped the dishes in the sink and put on his own coat. "What things?"

"A list of which other Immortals are in the area. If someone did this _to_ him then logically it makes sense that it was one of us. If this is just something that happens sometimes to pre-Immortals…." Methos wiggled his fingers in the air, making shapes to accentuate what he was explaining. "Kind of like, maybe, a genetic defect in the womb, or something, I don't know, it's just the beginning of a theory, and it doesn't seem the most likely. Anyway. If someone did this to him, _that_ we can look into."

Duncan considered what Methos had told him. They didn't have enough information to know what had really happened, but his gut was telling him that this was not a natural phenomenon. Not a disease, not related to genetics. His instincts were telling him that it involved another Immortal. His instincts weren't always right, but he'd survived a long time by relying on his wits. "Let's go."

When they got to the bar, it was busy, and festooned in pink balloons. The napkins were also pink, and the drink special for the night was something wet with cranberry juice. There was also an ominous sign offering pink beer, which Methos blanched at when he read it. The music was heavy with ballads, and the theme was resolutely steeped in love won and love lost. Valentine's Day had turned into Valentine's night. 

Joe gave them a wave and motioned them to the back where he had his small, cluttered office. 

"Adam gave me a heads up earlier," he said as he closed the door behind them, muffling the noise and music from the bar. The small window over to the side was wide open, allowing the stuffy air to dissipate, although it kept the office chilled. Joe picked up a sheet of paper off his desk and held it out. 

Duncan took it and gave it a quick scan. There were seven names on the list, complete with addresses. Duncan's and Adam's names were at the top, but he noticed that the security guard from the mall was not on the list. He paused for a moment, and wondered if it was his place to set Joe on her tail. Probably she'd never even taken a head and just wanted to be left alone. Plus, his skin still itched where the Watchers were concerned. He trusted Joe, but the rest of the group was still being weighed in the balance. 

Methos looked over his shoulder and didn't correct Duncan when he failed to mention that a name was missing. Of course, that also meant that Joe's list was flawed. There could be more Immortals in town that weren't on this list--either here as permanent residents or just traveling through. 

"I know Amelia," Methos said quietly and Duncan found the name listed just below theirs. "I doubt she's involved in this."

"So you think what happened to your friend has something to do with another Immortal?" Joe asked. 

"We don't know what to think, Joe," Duncan said. "But neither of us has ever heard of a pre-immortal suddenly becoming mortal like that."

Joe looked glum. "So it could be anything, then. The guy could have caught a cold and shook his quickening loose."

"I called Gregor," Duncan said. "He'll be here tomorrow. If it's medical, he'll figure it out."

"And if it isn't," Methos added, and grabbed at the sheet of paper in Duncan's hand, "we'll figure it out." 

They left Joe shaking his head in his office and headed back out into the cold night. Methos hunched into his coat and muttered something about wool linings and having to cut holes in them for certain objects. Duncan kept the heater up in the Thunderbird all the way back to the loft. 

~~~

Gregor arrived at the loft sometime just after daybreak. 

He banged on the door and Methos, having been camped out on the couch with his laptop for the night, made it to the door first. There was a round of joyous hugs and whispered secret greetings before Duncan made it over there and then the hugging and back slapping started all over again. 

Bleary-eyed since they'd stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking things over, Duncan rubbed at his tired eyes, and managed to get the coffee going. It was a day that would need a lot of caffeine. 

"So, update me. Tell me everything." Gregor perched on one of Duncan's stools. Leaning forward, his dark eyes serious, he looked very vibrant and very studious and Duncan felt a little better. Gregor was a brilliant doctor, and he was Immortal. If anyone could get a handle on the situation, then he would. Duncan was also glad to see that he'd transitioned out of his black leather and nihilism phase from the last time they'd met. His hair was trimmed short and neat and his clothes were very professional. He looked every bit the image of the young, genius doctor. 

Methos was on the stool right next to him, print outs spread out in front of them. He glanced at his watch. "We'll get you to the hospital in about an hour and you can take a look at him. Both MacLeod and I were in his presence previously and there was no mistaking it. He was a pre-immortal. And now he is not." Methos filled him in on the rest of their day, and their unexciting discoveries. 

The coffee machine gave its last few sputters as the pot finished and Duncan turned away as Methos and Gregor talked particulars about Jonathan's condition. The two of them looked like the epitome of upper-level university students pouring over notes and books, studying for final exams. He poured three mugs full and carried two over. 

"And while you're at the hospital, MacLeod and I are going to track down these Immortals and talk to them."

Gregor nearly choked on the coffee he was sipping. "You're what?" He put the mug down with a heavy thud. "Please tell me that you are not going around door to door to unknown Immortals and introducing yourselves. On the _off chance_ that one of them might have something to do with this." He raised an eyebrow and looked from Duncan to Methos and back again.

"Okay, then, pretend we didn't tell you," Methos quipped. 

Gregor put his face in his hands. "No, no, no," he mumbled into his hands. 

"You let us worry about the other Immortals. We just need you to deal with Jonathan."

"I don't know how much I can really do. It's not as if I can manage to find his lost quickening. And killing him to see if he'll still come back is out of the question."

"Yeah," Duncan said. "Best not to kill the patient _on purpose_."

After breakfast, they drove to the hospital. Ivy was already awake, with a paper cup of what looked like heated swamp sludge, and she smiled tiredly when she saw them. Duncan took away the paper cup and threw it in the trash. Methos handed over the thermos they had prepared from the coffee pot back at the loft. 

"The last thing we need is for you to develop an ulcer," Duncan told her, trying to keep his tone light. 

Ivy nodded and looked down, gave a quick sniffle, composed herself and picked her head up again. "Thank you for the coffee. I needed something that didn't taste like dissolved cardboard." 

"How'd the night go?" Duncan asked quietly. 

"No change. Which isn't all bad." 

Duncan nodded and gave her hand a pat. Then he turned and indicated Gregor. "This is my doctor friend that I told you about. Dr. Greg Porter. Greg, this is Ivy Murray." 

Gregor came forward and shook her hand. "Hi. I'm sorry to have to meet you under these circumstances. I don't know if I'll be able to help you more than the doctors here, because it looks like Jonathan is in good hands, but I'm very willing to assist you however I can."

Ivy visibly choked up for a moment. "Oh, thank you. Thank you. I don't know how to say thank you enough." She looked from Gregor to Duncan to Methos and back to Gregor, obviously overwhelmed both by the situation her husband was in and the kindness of people she only knew through her husband. 

Duncan gave Ivy's shoulder a squeeze. "Just take it one day at a time. Adam and I have some things we want to look into. We'll check back with the both of you later, okay?"

They left Gregor talking quietly to Ivy, gleaning as much information as he could. 

Methos pulled the list of Immortals out of his pocket. "Now," he said. "I think we can safely cross both you and me off the list. Also, Amelia. She's a nun and hasn't stepped off holy ground for about fifty years now. If we dead-end, I suppose we could go and talk with her."

They reached the Thunderbird and Duncan unlocked the doors. "So, who does that leave?"

"Four names. I don't know any of them."

"Neither do I."

"Well, we'll start at the top and work our way down. Mr. Quinn Dorrisey, at Little Gala Drive."

The ride over to Little Gala Drive was quiet--they'd spent their speculations well into the night and Duncan was sure that both of them were feeling a bit sleep-deprived. Mr. Dorrisey's residence turned out to be a small farm on the outskirts of town. He had a weathered dark-red barn and several complacent horses that were enjoying the bright winter sunshine in the field. A large sign advertised trail rides. The parking area was hard-packed dirt with scrub-brush and high-grown grass at the edges where a three-rail fence stood sentinel. 

A young boy with an outrageous amount of freckles and one adult front tooth on its way to growing in, came up to them as they got out of their Thunderbird. "Hey, misters, are you here for the trail ride?"

Methos actually wrinkled his nose, and with a strange look to Duncan, he told the boy, "I really don't ride anymore."

The boy looked puzzled. "If you aren't here to ride, then what can I do for you?"

"We were hoping to talk to Mr. Quinn Dorrisey."

"That's my uncle," the boy proclaimed. "He just got back from a week long trail ride with a whole bunch of people down the coast and back. Just wait on a minute and I'll get him." The boy ran off. 

"A week long trail ride," Methos said. "Doesn't sound like our culprit."

The thrumming sensation of quickening hit Duncan and he could see Methos twist side to side, looking, until they both saw the tall man with the cowboy hat on that strode their way. Like his barn, he was weathered, although he looked young beneath the punishment of the sun and outdoor living. He stopped a respectful distance away, wary and uneasy. Duncan could see the young boy hovering in the background, curious. 

"What can I help you fellows with?" Dorrisey asked. 

Duncan waved Methos back and stepped toward the man with his hands palm up in front of him. "We're not here to pick a fight," he said. "We're just looking for some information. A friend of ours had a run in with someone and we're trying to figure out who."

"Not me," Dorrisey said. "Out here, I haven't run into any of us for years."

Duncan finally stopped in front of the man and held his hand out. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he said. "My friend is Adam Parker."

"Quinn Dorrisey." They shook hands. "I've heard about you, Mr. MacLeod. They say you're an honorable man. But a deadly one. I haven't heard about Mr. Parker." His eyes flicked over to Methos, but Duncan decided not to stray away from their reason for being there. 

"Our friend Jonathan Murray had a run in with someone--one of us, we think--two days ago. We're just trying to figure out what happened." Duncan kept his voice low. 

"Not me," Dorrisey repeated. "What kind of run in?"

"He's in the hospital," Duncan said. 

Dorrisey's expression was one of knowing. "That kind of run in." He looped his thumbs over his belt, but it was a practiced insouciance and Duncan knew the man could react in a heartbeat if needed. "I don't have anything to tell you, I'm afraid. I've been organizing and heading up some trail rides lately. And I try to stay out of the Game. As far out as I can possibly be." His voice was firm and Duncan could tell that the conversation would go no further. 

"I understand." Duncan backed off a few steps. "Thank you for your time."

Dorrisey gave him a solemn nod.

Duncan retreated back to the Thunderbird and they both got in and drove off. 

"One down, three to go," Methos muttered. 

"We can't know for sure it wasn't him, though."

"I think we can be pretty sure." 

"So you believe him? I thought you viewed everyone with a veil of suspicion." Duncan chuckled. Methos' casual paranoia about everything was often a source of much amusement for Joe and himself. Even the times when Methos' cautiousness paid off, which were not few and far between, Duncan admitted, were rousing--mostly because it meant that they'd survived to laugh about things some other day. 

"I think so," Methos said, with a narrow-eyed and slightly displeased reaction to Duncan's humor, "I've been known to have a moderately good judgment for character, and he didn't seem like he was lying. Plus, I looked up his chronicles last night. He has been off giving trail rides. His Watcher was new to horses and miserable with saddle sores."

"You might have mentioned that before we spent time driving all the way here to meet the man."

"Watchers aren't foolproof. Much better to see things for ourselves."

Duncan couldn't argue with that. In fact, with the exception of Joe, he found it difficult to put trust in any Watcher, and certainly he wasn't sure he'd shed a single tear if the entire organization got razed. 

The next Immortal was more difficult to locate. Wren Doone. They finally found him in the Mount August Cemetery, seventh stone in on the fortieth row.

"We can cross him off the list," Methos said. "And Joe'll be glad of an update. I bet they thought he fell off the radar."

Duncan bent down and cleared the few strands of long-bladed grass that had grown up against the stone that the lawn-mower had missed. The dates on the stone were false, of course, but the epitaph seemed heartfelt. _He was loved; he will be missed._ The top of the marker was engraved with fronds from a weeping willow, but they were broken in the middle, snapped to represent a life cut short. 

"He had people who will miss him," Duncan said. 

Methos put his hand down on Duncan's shoulder and held it there for a long moment. It was a warm and comforting weight on a cold day in a shady cemetery. Duncan was glad he wasn't on this investigation alone. Methos' insight and experience were invaluable, but it was the company of the man himself that was most important. To have a friend along who understood the complexities of a long life, and who felt those same aches and pains of both the happiness and sadness it brought, was a thing beyond measure to Duncan. 

"He did," Methos said. "And a man who had friends that would miss him would not be the sort of man we were looking for." Methos pulled his hand away and started walking slowly back to the car. Duncan watched him walk, a solitary figure in a dark coat, ever upright and living, amongst the granite and marble of already spent lives. It prickled his skin, especially since he realized, as he began to follow Methos, that he also was an odd thing in this cemetery. 

Holy ground was safe, but it also gave an Immortal a sharp reminder that there had been a moment where they had first died, and been as dead as any other individual interred deep in the ground, and somehow, someway, they came back. For them, death was not yet forever, they actually had a second chance. 

Jonathan would never have that second chance, Duncan realized. As much of a burden as immortality was, it was also a gift. Of course, the key to enjoying the gift was often an early death when one was in the prime of life. They'd originally thought that Jonathan's disappearance was his entrance into their world, the world of the Game and immortality, which would have forever separated him from Ivy. If in losing his chance at immortality, he had gained a lifetime with his lovely wife, was it such a terrible trade-off? 

If he survived, Duncan reminded himself. At the moment Jonathan was a long way from recovery. It was a dilemma to revisit if the circumstances of Jonathan's health changed for the better. Otherwise, it was a poor exchange. 

The afternoon sun was casting long shadows when Duncan's cell phone rang. He pulled over to the side of the dirt road that had been taking them away from the quaint little cemetery. 

"MacLeod."

"It's Greg. I think there's something here you should see."

Gregor's voice on the phone was overloud and at his words, Methos' expression turned chalky. "We'll be there in less than twenty," Duncan replied. "What is it?"

"You should see it first. It's not something to discuss over a cell phone."

"We'll be there soon," Duncan said and turned the phone off. He threw it on the back seat. "Methos?" he asked. 

Methos had scrunched down in his seat. "I've got a very good guess what it is that Gregor wants us to see."

"Which would be?" 

"Like he said, I think we need to see it first before we let conjecture go too far."

Duncan was feeling frustrated. Gregor made sense--it wasn't wise to discuss certain topics over unsecured phone lines. Methos not being forthcoming, while not uncommon, was starting that slow boil in his blood. Plus, it didn't bode well that neither of them wanted to talk about it--what could be so horrible? He looked to his watch and then to the speedometer. He'd get there in fifteen, or he'd eat his leather belt. 

~~~ 

Gregor was waiting for them outside the door to Jonathan's room. He guided them away to an empty room. "We can talk over here. I don't want Ivy to know what I've found out. I take it that you haven't told her what her husband's former destiny had been?"

"No," Duncan said. "It was a conversation we'd hoped would be unnecessary."

"It might still be," Gregor said. "I went over all the paperwork and if he were supposed to be purely mortal, it'd be the choice between a few conclusions, none of them promising. But he isn't. Or wasn't." Gregor rubbed at his forehead. "Mortal, I mean. So I wore out some shoe leather taking a look-see around."

"You found another one," Methos guessed quietly. 

Gregor expelled a breath in a long rush, apparently not at all surprised that the nature of his phone call had been guessed. "Bingo. Two, actually. One I'm not entirely sure about, but he fits the pattern. The second one…well, you'll see." 

Duncan and Methos followed Gregor through the hall to another corridor. Duncan's gut clenched tight. Two more? It couldn't be. What would strike down two pre-immortals and put them in the hospital, sans quickenings? 

Gregor put his finger to his lips and led the way into a small corner room that was meant to hold two people, although only one was present. Duncan could see that it was a twenty-something man with blond hair. His eyes were closed, his face was gaunt, and his skin was waxy. He was breathing on his own, but was hooked up to an iv, and looked more like an apple or a pear in a still-life painting than a living human being. Nothing moved save for his chest, gently and slowly going up and down. Nothing fluttered behind his eyelids, and not even a finger twitched. 

Gregor motioned them out of the room. "He's the one I'm making an educated guess on. He's been here only a couple days longer than Jonathan. They're planning on moving him soon to another long-term care facility because they honestly don't know how to help him."

Chilled, Duncan followed Gregor to the next room, which was a few more corridors down the way. Again, it was a double space occupied by a single individual, and Duncan wondered if that had any significance. 

Beside him, he could hear Methos' breath hitch. Then he felt the creepy-crawly sensation of utter wrongness. It oozed up his spine and spread out along his nerves, whispering and warning, like the pricking of a million blunt needles, and making him vaguely nauseous. 

They backed out of the room quickly. 

"I think the mortals feel it too, on some level, and that's why no one is in the room with her." Gregor paused to sip at the stream from a nearby water fountain on the wall. 

"What's wrong with her?" Duncan asked. He couldn't keep the hoarseness out of his throat. Just remembering what it felt like to be in her presence made him feel disjointed and somehow out of sync with his own body. 

"She's only got a part of her quickening," Methos said quietly. His face was closed off and impassive, but Duncan was sure that the sensation coming from the girl in the bed must have sickened Methos just as it had he and Gregor. Methos never tightened down as much as when he needed to keep all the control as was possible. He continued on in a low voice that Duncan had to strain to hear. "She's weeping, Mac. It's like an open sore. She's bleeding out. It's just her quickening that's been torn to shreds, not her body, and most of it taken, and she's just a raw, open wound." 

It was Duncan's turn to offer comfort. He reached out and touched Methos' elbow, steadying him as if he were just a bit tottery from too much drink, and pulled away again. Methos gave him a tight lipped smile, acknowledging Duncan's support and companionship, but it was also grim and unhappy. 

Gregor whistled slowly through his teeth. "That's what I was thinking. With Jonathan, I thought maybe it could be some virus or disease that suddenly attacked pre-immortals, or attacked him as a mortal and had a side effect on his pre-quickening. It was possible. But now…." Gregor ran his hand through his hair, giving it lease to be messy and unkempt. 

"Now we know it has to be someone," Methos said. 

"Yeah, pretty much," Gregor agreed. 

"Are you telling me that some _one_ did that to all three of them?" Duncan demanded. 

A nurse from down the hall looked up at them with a frown and Gregor gave her some hand signal that kept her from confronting them. "Time to go back to Jonathan's room," Gregor said.

The hallways were quiet as they passed through, pausing on the threshold of Jonathan's doorway. Inside Duncan could see Ivy sitting in the chair, reading some paperwork with one hand, and with her other she had reached out and was holding her husband's hand with hers.

"What now?" Gregor asked. 

"There're two names left on our list," Methos said. "We go and visit them."

"And if they aren't the ones?"

"We'll have to come up with new options." Duncan couldn't tear his eyes away from Ivy. She'd have lost him eventually. Either through her own old age, or his, if he never became Immortal. Or because he did. Their time together would have been short, no matter what, but now it was even shorter. And instead of the hundreds and thousands, and perhaps even more, years that Jonathan might have had, he had so very little of it left. 

"Let's go," Methos said. 

Still staring at Ivy, Duncan shook his head. "We need to take a short break first. Ivy needs to go home, eat something, take a shower, and nap in her own bed instead of hard hospital chair."

"You think she'll leave his side?"

"We'll make her leave his side. She won't be any good to him if she's exhausted," Duncan said. "Wait here a moment." He went in to talk with Ivy. "Hey."

She looked up. "Hi." She motioned to the paperwork. "This stuff is impossible."

"I can call my lawyer. He's very, very good at helping with paperwork." Duncan picked up a few sheets and read them over. "I bet you have a lot of this information at home."

"You're trying to be subtle," Ivy said and rubbed at her eyes. "But you're right, and I'd really appreciate a ride home. I don't think I could drive right now. Plus, the thought of sleeping lying down is amazingly attractive right now." She gave Duncan a weak look of humor. 

Duncan gathered the papers into a pile and then took both her hands and helped her to stand. "Come on. I'll bring you home. Adam can drive your car so that you can come back when you've rested."

Ivy nodded with a grateful expression. "I don't know what I'd have done without you."

"I'm just glad you called in the first place," Duncan said. 

As they turned to leave, with Ivy a few feet away gathering her things, Duncan caught Gregor's attention and held it. "Do what you can. There may still be some solution on this side of things."

"That's what I was thinking. Don't worry, I haven't given up." Gregor squared his shoulders, prepared to enter the little room again. 

The ride back to Ivy's home was quiet, with Ivy sitting in the passenger seat with her eyes closed. Duncan guessed that she hadn't been able to sleep during the night and was near exhaustion herself, both from worry and stress, and lack of sleep. He rerouted to stop at a drive-through fast food window and picked up chicken and salads that could be stored and eaten later. 

In the rearview window, he could see Methos ordering more food behind him as they waited in line. 

By the time they had reached Ivy's home, she'd succumbed to her exhaustion and Duncan had to help her inside. He led her straight to the bedroom where she curled up and he covered her with a blanket. 

He put the take-out food in the refrigerator and placed the stack of paperwork on the kitchen counter where Ivy could find it later and fill it out more accurately. 

Methos was waiting for him outside, leaning against the hood of the Thunderbird. "How is she?"

"She's fine. Just exhausted--nothing that a long sleep and a good meal won't cure," Duncan said. "And if we figure out what happened to Jonathan and how to fix it, then everything would be much better."

Before they left the driveway, Duncan pulled out his cell phone and called Joe. 

"Dawson," Joe answered. 

"Hey, Joe."

"MacLeod. I've been wondering when I'd hear from you. Got any more answers for me?"

"No. Just a whole lot more questions."

"I figured."

"I need you to look into two names. We think they might have been pre-immortals, and they're in the hospital in the same predicament as Jonathan."

"Shit."

"Tell me about it," Duncan said grimly. He gave Joe the information on the two unfortunate souls in the hospital. "All three of them have to have something in common, and once we figure that out, we'll know what to do." He closed the call and pocketed his phone. 

"And in the meantime, we'll wear out some shoe leather," Methos said. 

Duncan pulled out the list and examined the names. "Laura Armillac and Bram Hessel. I've never heard of them."

"Neither have I," Methos admitted. "But they can't be in too much hiding. Their addresses were in the phone book. They seem to be quite well known for their abilities as shamans." 

Duncan paused to stare at Methos. "A shaman? A pair of shamans? That could be it. Who else could be so capable of ruining pre-immortal quickenings? As shamans they would be able to control things outside the norm, or use magic, or spells." Duncan had known shamans in several different cultures and time periods during his lifetime. The basics were the same--they acted as liaisons between the real world and another world or other worlds, depending on the belief system. The specifics of how a shaman operated could vary greatly, and of course, like any human endeavor, the intent of the individual for good or evil, was paramount to outcome. 

"It would make sense," Methos said. "Which is exactly why I don't want to assume that it is either of them, or both of them." His expression shifted to one of amusement. "Besides, if we don't have to fight to the death, maybe we can ask for advice."

Duncan just shook his head, declining to rise to the bait. He knew Methos was right. Either way, these two individuals were an opportunity and they would have to be very careful. There was a lot of potential for the meeting to go very wrong, very quickly. 

Duncan put the car into gear and they were on their way. 

Their destination was a well tended and old fashioned brick building on the edge of where the commercial district became the residential. It appeared to have once been a shop, with the wide glass windows on the first floor, and smaller windows on the second, where the shop keeper could live at night after tending the store all day. Given that a professional sign was affixed outside the door offering consultation services, curtains in the upstairs window, and only one mailbox, Duncan guessed that the building still served as both business and residence. 

The door was open, with a small sign affixed to it giving business hours, and as they entered Duncan felt the harsh scrape of Immortal presence along his spine. The main office area was empty, however, and remained that way for another few minutes. A comfortable looking couch, a few scattered chairs, a water cooler, and an ornate coffee table with an eclectic mix of magazines on it were in the room, but Duncan and Methos stayed on their feet. 

Then one of two doors to the office opened and an older woman came out, looking perplexed. She looked at Duncan and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. My appointment went a bit over. I hope you weren't waiting too long."

"We're fine," Duncan managed. 

Methos held the door open for her, and the woman wrapped her coat around her and left. 

"How may we help you?" 

Duncan turned at the sound of the voice and saw that two people had come out of the same door the woman had. One was a man with sharp, clever features, and bright eyes. He was balding, but otherwise looked fit. A pair of spectacles perched on his nose. He looked to be in his late forties, but of course, with Immortals, one could never tell age just by looking. He was about as tall as Duncan, and next to him stood a young girl who was almost doll-like in her smallness. Her face was also very clever, but softened and pretty. Her pixie-style haircut gave her an exotic air, as if she were more worldly than one would imagine just based on her apparent age, which Duncan would have estimated at somewhere over twenty. Again, he didn't want to assume her real age. 

"We have some questions," Methos said. "That's all."

"Questions," the man repeated. "Two unknown Immortals show up at my door and claim they only have questions." He studied them for a long moment. "The question on our part is if we should believe you. Or if you are here for other reasons."

"It depends on how you answer the questions," Duncan said. 

Next to him, Methos rolled his eyes. "Ignore him. He likes to threaten first, negotiate later." Methos gave them a brilliant smile and indicated the door. "And we apologize for interrupting your previous appointment."

The young woman tilted her head, studying them intensely. Duncan could detect unusual clarity in her gaze. "I sense no direct malice." 

"Nor do I," agreed the man. He held out his hand. "I am Bram Hessel and this is Laura Armillac. But you must have known this already."

Duncan took it and they shook hands, Bram had a firm handshake and his hand was dry. "We did. I am Duncan MacLeod and my friend is Adam Parker. We wanted to talk to you about an acquaintance of ours. Jonathan Murray."

"The name doesn't ring any bells," Bram said, his brow furrowed. "One of us?"

"Not yet," Duncan said. "He's in the hospital at the moment. Something happened to him--"

"And you think it was one of us," Laura finished for him. "I can assure you that neither Bram nor I had any contact with him. We're rather reclusive. We try not to pick any fights."

Methos's mouth quirked at the corners. "I don't pick fights myself," he said, throwing a meaningful glance over to Duncan. 

Duncan ignored the implication and studied the two Immortals. They appeared to be telling the truth, though Immortals were generally skilled liars. It was a necessary survival skill and one usually needed to become very good at it. Still, nothing in their demeanor suggested falsehoods. He looked to Methos, who was usually far more accomplished at sniffing out any untruths. Methos lifted his shoulders very slightly and shifted his hands, indicating he thought they were being forthright. 

"He's very ill," Methos said. "If it wasn't either of you, do you know of anyone who could have done something like that?"

"No, I've never heard of such a thing." Laura scrunched up her forehead, obviously thinking deeply. "Are you sure it's an Immortal that had harmed him? Could it be someone else? A jealous lover? Or co-worker?" 

"It's not his wife," Duncan said. "We're very sure about that." He didn't think it was a co-worker. That wouldn't explain the other two near-death pre-immortals lying in their own hospital beds. 

"In our work, sometimes we can see things that are not usually visible with the normal eye," Bram said. "If you have a few minutes, we could attempt to walk on the spirit plane. Whoever is trying to hurt him, we might be able to tell you something about them."

Duncan cast a look to Methos, feeling very doubtful. They did not have time for this, and he wasn't sure he believed this sort of thing was real. He'd met people who had gifts and talents, but to standardize it as a profession…it was just too unlikely for him. The moment it started having workshops and certificates of attendance, the moment it became something of a money-making scheme, the less Duncan was inclined to believe an individual had any kind of ability. 

Methos, however, seemed more inclined to let them give it a try. "We'd very much appreciate whatever you could do."

"It should be me, I think," Bram said. "I've got a spirit guide who's eternally curious and loves nothing more than to look into things."

"Okay," Duncan said. "I'll drive."

All three of them grinned at him. "No, Mr. MacLeod, he can do this from here," Laura said, amusement coloring her words. Bram went back through the door and Laura closed it tight behind him and stood in front of it, barring the way. "And there'll be no tricks. You'll have to go through me first."

Duncan realized that their truce was still uneasy and that Laura wasn't dissuaded about the notion of them of coming here for a fight. The fact that Laura stood between Bram and the door meant she was the better fighter, and probably older. As small as she was, Duncan had no doubt that she could hold her own in the confined space of the office. He stepped back. "Unless you're the ones who've harmed Jonathan, then we've no quarrel with you."

"Then we have no quarrel," Laura said, but her stance in front of the door remained firm. 

Methos drifted over to Duncan. "I thought you were supposed to be the charming one."

"I'm only charming on eight hours of sleep. With sleep deprivation, you get surly."

It was quiet while waiting in the room. Laura seemed disinclined to chat, though she kept attentive, and Methos had tucked himself up on the sofa. In general, Duncan thought, Immortals over a thousand always seemed to have perfected the art of waiting. It was something of which Duncan was envious. He'd seen May-Ling do it during the time that he had learned from her, and Darius, and Methos was a master at it. They placed themselves aside, like a rock settling in a riverbed, and just let time and efforts flow around them, their thoughts turned inward. Everything about them was still. 

Duncan could manage to keep himself from pacing, and he could muster the ability to lie in wait, because even when one was waiting, it was the act of doing something. But he had always felt his own energy, and the poised potential to act at any given moment. The patience Methos exhibited was like a landmark falling off a map. 

"You're still very young, aren't you," Laura said quietly to him after a long time had passed. She indicated Methos with a nudge of her chin. "Your friend is a lot older. It's easy to see how you observe him."

"He has a lot to teach." Duncan wasn't sure where this conversation was going and he had no interest in providing Methos' head as a target, but talking with Laura was a lot more desirable than waiting in quiet.

"And you love to learn." Her expression shifted from wariness to one exhibiting less hostility, almost curiosity. 

"It's one of the things that make our long lives bearable and beautiful."

"It is," she agreed. "Perhaps when you've figured out your mystery and settled yourself, you could return to us. There could be things to learn here." She looked up at him from under her lashes. Her words had been languorous, slightly smoldering. 

Duncan blinked very slowly, feeling the sudden heat of interest and consideration. "Perhaps I will." 

Across the room, the jangle of a ring-tone finally gave a reason for Methos to move again. "Adam," he answered the phone. He looked up at Duncan, eyes hard as steel. "I understand. Thank you."

It felt like it took two steps to cross the room. "What happened?"

"Good news for once," Methos said. "That was Gregor. He was working on a theory and it paid off. He says Jonathan's coming around."

"We need to get there right away." Duncan glanced back at Laura, who had one eyebrow raised. 

"A break in your situation," she said. 

"Yes." Duncan motioned to the door. "We need to go, but we're still very interested in whatever Bram may have discovered." He took one of his cards out of his pocket and scribbled his cell phone number on the back. "Here. Call me whenever. If I don't answer, leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Laura pocketed the card. "If there's anything to tell you, I'll call."

Duncan and Methos hustled out of the office and back to the car. Once again, Duncan found himself driving across the city and along the very familiar hospital roads, and parking in the familiar lot. Duncan was not amused at the thought that he was becoming so comfortable with the hospital parking and adjacent roads. In fact, he was even starting to choose the same parking spot each time. 

The room seemed farther away than before, but the halls were recognizable. Just as they reached the right floor, Duncan's cell phone went off. He paused to answer it and waved Methos forward. He and Gregor were the doctors anyway. 

"MacLeod," Duncan said. 

"Mac, it's Joe. We finished the digging you wanted on your two victims."

"And?"

"By a perhaps not so strange coincidence, they both collapsed while at the mall. Does that mean anything to you?"

Duncan's vision turned inward for a moment and he thought about Methos and his trip to retrieve Jonathan's car at the mall. Three pre-immortals. Three victims. All at the same mall. "Maybe. It's a lead, and I'm going to follow it. Thanks, Joe."

"Just make sure you tell me what you find. Quid pro quo, my friend."

"Always." Duncan hit the off button. He strode down the long corridor and stopped at the doorway to Jonathan's room. Ivy had been summoned back to the room, and was radiant in relief, tear streaks down her face as she held her husband's hand. He was weak, limp, but he was awake. He blinked at the people surrounding him, trying to utter a few syllables, but obviously too tired to talk much. Ivy pushed the hair off his forehead and gave him a kiss. 

"Just sleep," she said, with a meaningful look to Methos and Gregor that spoke volumes about what she'd do to anyone who asked one more question. "We'll talk when you wake up." It took only a few seconds for him to fall asleep as soon as he was no longer being pestered. 

Ivy saw Duncan at the doorway and eased her hand away from Jonathan's and came over to him. Methos and Gregor hung back in the room, talking in hushed tones to each other. 

She gave Duncan a strong hug. "Thank you. You and Dr. Porter and Adam, all of you. For everything." She sniffed and caught her breath. "The doctors think he's going to be okay. It's all talk of a long recovery now, but that sounds divine when the talk had been of…had been about other things." 

"I know." Duncan hugged her back. "He's a fighter. And I don't know who's tougher--you or him, but I do know the two of you are going to do this."

"Yeah, we are." She looked back to Jonathan. "You and Adam know what happened to him, don't you?"

"Not quite. We've got a theory." Duncan patted her shoulder. "We'll let you know when we're sure, but right now I think it's best if we keep looking into it."

Ivy's breath hitched a little. "I saw Dr. Porter's notes on those other two people. And I overheard Adam and Dr. Porter talking. I know it's not just Jonathan." She turned back to Duncan, and he saw the flicker of determination in her eyes. "Whatever it is, you have to stop it, before someone else gets hurt. I don't know if it’s a virus or pesticides, or what it is, but it's hurting people. Promise me you're doing everything you can to stop it."

Duncan nodded solemnly. "We're looking into it." 

Ivy held his gaze for a long moment, seeking in his face something that she must have finally found, because she nodded. "If anything, the past few days have taught me I can trust you, Duncan. I trust you now." She turned and went back to her husband's bedside. 

Methos and Gregor put their conversation on pause and came out to Duncan. 

"He remembered," Methos said. "It's the Immortal at the mall, it's got to be. The last thing he recalled was walking in there."

"Joe called. He said the other two victims were found collapsed at the same mall," Duncan said. 

"Seems pretty clear," Gregor said. "Want a third for backup?"

"No," Duncan told him. "I think Adam and I can handle this. We need you here just in case something else happens." He looked at Methos. "Let's go. We need to talk to her again."

Duncan was pretty sure that the route between Jonathan's room and the parking spot for the Thunderbird would now be imprinted forever in his memory. He hoped he wouldn't have to travel it too many more times before this would all be over. 

"So, how did Gregor do it? How'd he get Jonathan to wake up?" he asked as they drove the distance to the mall. 

"An Immortal's quickening is our equivalent of a mortal's immune system. They act completely differently, of course, with different mechanisms, but they have the same job to do." Methos stared straight ahead and spoke as if he were giving a lecture. His voice was calm and tempered, and he kept the logic basic. 

He continued, "No one really understands how a pre-immortal's immune system works. Their quickenings haven't been engaged yet, so we assume they have a mortal's immune system. They get colds and viruses, food poisoning, and the like, which are less robust compared to what a non pre-immortal would suffer, but they don't have allergies. At least that we know of. So it also seems that their quickening _is_ engaged at some level, even if at a minor one. Then you run into the problem that we don't really understand what a quickening is or how it works. The basic premise, though, is that it's electrical, which bears out with," he cleared his throat and threw Duncan a weighted look, "observations. So Gregor decided that maybe he could mimic it a little in the body. He took some saline and charged it--" Methos held up a hand, "--don't even ask how he did it, you don't want to know. And he got that into Jonathan, and it worked. He'll get the other two on charged saline drips sometime soon and see if it helps them."

Duncan took a moment to digest that information. "What does that mean for the long term?"

"We don't know. Jonathan might need a charged saline drip like a person with malfunctioning kidneys needs dialysis. Or the charge might not last--saline really isn't meant to hold a charge other than the basic one that comes from water." Methos looked thoughtful, as if his contemplations were faraway and fantastical. "Or, Gregor's other theory is that as long as Jonathan stays hydrated, we can rig up a circuit from foot to head with a battery and Jonathan can just change them out every couple of months."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Nope. Actually, it sounds pretty likely that he's going to need _something_. His own quickening is kaput. Something needs to supply the charge. At least until maybe his immune system develops a little, which is what we're really hoping for. Gregor is going to make sure he gets some immunizations again--we aren't sure that the ones he got as an infant would have ever worked, considering his pre-immortal low-level quickening would have zapped the particles before his mortal immune system ever had a chance to build up an immunity."

Duncan rubbed at his forehead. Methos would go on for hours about his and Gregor's theories if he let him. His head was already beginning to swirl. "Okay, okay. Enough of the theoretical. What does this mean in practical terms?"

"He lives," Methos said simply. "And the other two live. Everyone lives out their mortal lifespan. Happy ending."

Duncan narrowed his eyes. "This time. But what about any future victims that cross the path of our black widow mall Immortal? And what about their immortality? They were supposed to become Immortals. Get a chance to live forever."

"Or live a week and have someone better, faster, and more skilled kill them the first time they get in a fight," Methos pointed out. "I don't know. It starts to feel like roulette when you play all the what-ifs about that. The point is, they're alive now, and they'll be alive for as long as any other mortal person would have a shot at it. Maybe they make it to a hundred and ten, maybe a bus runs them over next week."

Duncan glared at Methos. "After the thousands of years you've seen, after all the people in your life that you've loved, you're willing to let them just have their one mortal shot? Bullshit."

"Not everyone gets five thousand years, MacLeod."

"But they didn't even get the chance to find out if they could have."

"And now they won't have to worry about fighting for their lives. They never had any other expectation than three-score and ten, how can they be disappointed? And don't assume I'm arguing that this is a good thing for them, I'm just pointing out that it is better than being dead, and maybe we should take some time to think about it before we judge. Besides." Methos turned his head and slunk down in his seat. "Gregor's best guess theory is that once the body gets used to being without a pre-immortal quickening that it'll behave just like a regular person's."

"So they can catch the flu or pneumonia or dengue fever and _die_?" 

Methos slunk down even further into his seat. "So maybe they might be fertile," he said in a quiet voice. 

Duncan felt like he'd been dowsed with a bucket of cold water. Children. A truly normal life. What a trade off. Immortality and the shot at living forever, or maybe not forever, or a regular life where the end was a certainty, but in which you got to grow old with your loved ones, in which you got to have a family. Stunned, he managed to almost miss the exit for the mall, but caught it just in time. He pulled to a stop in a parking spot and turned the car off. He sat there with his hands on the wheel for a time. 

"It's a difficult ethics dilemma, isn't it," Methos said. He was staring through the windshield like there was something more interesting than row after row of parked cars. 

"But we don't get to choose," Duncan said, teasing the logic out of the situation. "We're already Immortal."

"And pre-immortals don't understand what it is they'd be choosing in the first place. That's one sour conundrum. But you're assuming she couldn't do the same thing to an actualized Immortal. We don't know that, and we should be assuming she's very dangerous." Methos rubbed at his eyes. "It's all academic anyway. We need to find this Immortal and find out what has been going on from her side of the story. She might not even know she's doing this. And it could still be something else, anyway. Radiated chilidogs at the One Hot Bun stand."

"Unlikely," Duncan said. After a long moment, he asked, "Would you eat the radiated chilidog?"

Methos gave him an inscrutable look. "I think we need to find Ms. Bayla Illamarc. The sooner we talk to her, the sooner we can go home." He got out of the car and slammed the door shut. 

It took Duncan a full minute to catch up with him. 

~~~

The mall was quiet. A few pre-teens milled about here and there, and there were some lines for the movie queue, but otherwise it was a subdued shopping day. 

"We don't even know for sure if she's working today."

"Let's go get a coffee and find out." Methos stepped in the direction of the coffee stand. 

"Bring me something back. I'm going to take a lap around the top level."

"Don't spook her too badly. We want to talk with her first, then decide if more serious measures are necessary. Remember, that's the plan."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "More serious measures?"

"There aren't a lot of ways this can end, MacLeod. You know that just as well as I do."

Duncan started his tour through the mall with grim thoughts on his mind. Methos was right. There weren't a lot of options when it came to resolving this situation. He didn't want it to have to end with a fight and a beheading. If anything, here was someone that appeared able to do something no other Immortal could do -- it should be a discovery, a cause for hope and possibly a way to understand who they were as a group of beings. Instead, if she refused to stop destroying pre-immortals, then they were faced with either letting her keep on or destroying her. 

He thought about Jonathan. Gregor had found a way to make him healthy again. If nothing else, he could write it up as a scientific paper and get it printed in a medical journal and then any doctor around the world would be able to reference it. Anywhere that this Immortal went, the hospitals would be able to deal with the victims. 

Or was he rationalizing? How many lives equaled her life? Who was he to decide?

Duncan glided past clothes stores, shoe stores, kitchen stores and electronics stores. Unseeing, he walked the length of the mall and turned around, heading back toward Methos. His mind was busy weighing the ethics of the situation, but he didn't feel an Immortal presence until he came back upon Methos, who was holding out another frothy creation. 

"She's expected on for the evening shift, so we've got about an hour to wait." Methos handed over the drink. "Double shot Americano with a twist of lemon and a sprinkling of oregano."

"Thanks," Duncan said and took a sip. It was just a strong latte with some cinnamon sprinkled on top. "I thought you said this had oregano in it."

Methos grinned. "So you were listening."

"I always listen." They walked over to the empty bench that they had used just a few days ago. "This is like déjà vu."

Methos sipped at his own drink, which smelled strongly of nutmeg. "At least nobody came into the hospital while we were investigating the situation." He shook his head. "Three pre-immortals in one week. What are the odds? You'd think Seacouver was crawling with them."

"Things come in threes, you know that." Duncan switched his coffee from his right hand to his left. He liked the way the hot cup warmed his hands. Cold hands, cold heart, he asked himself. Or just a cold conscience?

Methos had thrown his empty cup out, read most of a New Yorker that he'd bought at a book store, and Duncan's coffee was stone cold when they both felt the cadence and crescendo of another Immortal presence pricking their skins. They stood up as one and it would have been funny, Duncan thought, to see them hop to, except for how serious the situation was. 

"There she is," Duncan said.

Bayla had just approached the coffee stand. She turned in one fluid motion, gazing across the open mall area and her critical expression showed she was displeased with seeing Duncan again. She waved to her friend at the coffee stand to wait for her, and she cautiously approached, and stopped a safe distance away.

"You two again. More shopping?"

"Not this time," Duncan said. "We would like to talk to you."

"So talk," she said. "If you think I'm going anywhere with either of you two, you're nuts. I like my head right where it is, thank you very much."

"Here's not a good place," Duncan said. "Isn't there somewhere we could go and speak in private?"

"I like here just fine." She set her jaw stubbornly.

Duncan caught Methos' look of warning and switched tactics. In his calmest, lowest voice, he said, "We know what you've been doing to the pre-immortals. We wanted to ask you what your side of the story was."

Bayla frowned. "Pre-immortals? What I'm doing to them?" 

"The ones who haven't had their first death yet," Methos explained. "Before they become like us. Immortal."

"There're three of them in the hospital right now," Duncan added, and he found he couldn't quite keep the accusation out of his tone.

"I think the both of you need to leave now," Bayla said. "I won't engage in a fight. And if either of you come after me, I won't hesitate to do what I have to. This conversation is over." 

Duncan narrowed his eyes at her, and wondered what she meant. It was a hefty threat, whether she intended just physical violence, or if she could--as they'd speculated on earlier--somehow steal or harm the quickening of a full Immortal. Duncan wasn't sure if it was better to find out, or let sleeping dogs lie in that particular matter.

"I don't think so," Methos said as he slipped sideways and came around behind her. She was pinched between Duncan, Methos, and the bench now. It wasn't a trap, but she'd have to scramble over the bench to escape. 

"We're going to talk with you whether you like it or not," Duncan told her. "And what we want to know about is what you're doing to the pre-immortals."

Bayla glared at them. "The last time I looked, we're all in this alone. There can be only one, right? So I don't think I have to talk to either of you about anything." With three quick steps she'd hurtled the bench and was running away. 

"That went well, don't you think?" Methos asked. 

"Oh, sure, just perfect," Duncan said as he watched Bayla disappearing. "You go that way. I'll go this way." They split up and Duncan found that he quickly lost sight of Bayla. She might be petite, but she was fast. 

He had to make a few calculated choices as he passed various corridors and exits. As a security guard, she'd be well aware of the best routes of egress. He had a sinking feeling that she was going to elude them. Which would mean a long, protracted hunt for her since she wouldn't risk coming back to work again. Shit. He should have told Joe that she was here. Then they'd have a Watcher on her, at least. 

The skin on the back of his neck prickled and he noticed a door hidden in a giant painted wall advertisement for a coming store. He yanked it open and rushed in, the prickling of his skin growing stronger. The area was under construction and dim. Obstacles were everywhere, including loose lumber, electrical wires, and buckets holding various tools. 

"I know you're in here," he called out. "I just want to talk. We want to know why you've been attacking the pre-immortals." He waited. She was running scared, that was obvious, and she'd come in here to hide. Duncan wondered if there was a back exit. He started to follow the wall, keeping one hand on its rough surface. If there was a door, he'd come across it eventually. 

In the gloom of the walled-up store area, he felt his anxiety ratchet up. Once they'd grappled with the idea that she could somehow steal a pre-immortal's version of a quickening, he and Methos had speculated on how she was able to do it. The possibilities had conjured up dire situations reminiscent of horror films. They'd guessed at everything from an internal syringe mechanism to zombie-like mastication to psychic-vampirism. Their best hypothesis was that proximity--probably actual touching--facilitated the theft, but since they were groping blindly about an ability they'd just discovered, it wasn't beyond the pale that she might be able to do it from a distance, with just some mental effort. 

Duncan's skin itched when he thought of that. 

He fairly broke out in hives when he considered the gruesome idea that perhaps she could also steal an actual Immortal's quickening. Of course, if she could do that, he reasoned, might not she have already tried? Both Duncan and Methos had been very accessible to her.

He tried to put it out of his mind. They could ask her how she did it when they finally caught up with her. If they ever did. Right now he needed to concentrate on finding Bayla.

The prickling of his skin faded and Duncan was sure that Bayla had once again moved on out of his sensing range. A moment later his hand touched a break in the wall and he realized he'd found the back door. She could have doubled back to the door he'd come in, but Duncan's gut told him she was running too scared to be tricky. She was panicked and just moving forward. 

He wished their original meeting had gone better, but he'd have to analyze that later. He suspected there wasn't much he and Methos could have done to initiate contact any better. 

The back of his neck prickled very faintly as he exited the door and he used that to keep tracking. Bayla had gone out here. The door led to the outside, but it was in the back of the mall where trucks came to deliver their goods. A chain-link fence ran around the perimeter here, grasses and weeds growing wild along it. 

Duncan blinked in the bright sunlight and saw Bayla just dropping to the other side of the fence. 

"Stop!" he cried out. "Wait!" He ran up to the fence, grabbing it and rattling it with his hands. "I just want to talk."

Bayla paused. She eyed the fence and must have realized that with her on one side and Duncan on the other that she would have at least a few seconds head start if he tried to scale it. "Okay, talk," she said, and Duncan was impressed that she wasn't even winded from her flight. Panicked she might be, but not out of shape. 

"Jonathan Murray," he said. "He's in the hospital. Along with two others. All three of them were destined to one day be Immortal."

Bayla didn't move, but she kept her hard stare focused on Duncan. 

"But what was supposed to become their quickenings--the essence of what it means to be Immortal--it's gone from them. Someone took it. That someone was you, wasn't it?"

"What do you care?" Bayla asked. "Are you the Immortal police?"

"It's wrong," Duncan said, ignoring the jibe. "And you know it."

Bayla snorted. "Maybe for _you_ ," she said. "And if I were a six foot tall man, maybe I'd think it was wrong too. Better to challenge them later and take their stronger quickening then, huh? For you types." Her voice was bitter, crushed with experience.

Duncan narrowed his eyes at her, trying to absorb her words. Behind him he felt another Immortal approach. 

Bayla's gaze flicked upward. "And I see that you hunt in pairs. Convenient for you, is it?"

Methos strolled as if he had all day to get there, and when he did, he stood some distance away, shrugged into his coat as if he were waiting for a bus to arrive and had a long wait to go. He tilted his head at Duncan, and Duncan got it. He backed off a few steps from the chain-link fence. Bayla visibly relaxed. 

"We don't hunt in pairs," Methos said. He had a strand of grass that he'd plucked from somewhere. He fiddled with it as he spoke. "We're not hunting now."

"Liars," Bayla said. "Everyone is hunting all the time."

"So you think its fair game to hunt pre-immortals?" Duncan burst out. "To go after the helpless? They don't even know what they are!"

Bayla gave a short, bitter laugh. "As if it makes a difference. It's a tough world out there. Those of us who die by the sword gotta do what we can to make it through."

Duncan clenched his fists. He was ready to stop all this talking. It was clear to him that Bayla viciously sought out pre-immortals, and that it was premeditated, and done on purpose. It was a vile thought to him--how could she do it? What sort of evil was she that she thought preying on the unaware was acceptable?

"That's one way to look at it," Methos said, and the calmness in his voice pulled Duncan up short. He checked in his anger, willing to wait, to give Methos another chance at discussion, though he doubted it was going to change anything. "What else?" He pulled his sword out from beneath his coat, holding it almost negligently. 

Bayla stepped back from the fence. "I knew it. You're all the same."

"How old are you?" Methos asked.

"Old enough."

Methos cocked his head. "Ah, yes. You look it. Just like us. The Highlander there, he's over four hundred. I've seen more than a millennium. We don't quite look our age. What have you seen? Done?"

Bayla swallowed and shook her head. 

Methos reached out a hand, giving a show of feeling the air, hamming it up a bit. "Not very old at all, are you? Where's your teacher? You shouldn't be out on your own yet."

"She's gone," Bayla whispered. She looked entranced with Methos, unable to look away from the spectacle he was providing. "Dead." 

Duncan knew Methos was making educated guesses, but it was still eerie to hear how on target he was. Methos kept feeling the air as if he could discern something. His eyes were closed, his head was back. His sword was propped against the ground as if he were using it for a cane. "She wasn't very old, either. She shouldn't really have tried to teach, yet. But she took you on."

"Yes!" Bayla said. "How do you know? Did you know her?"

Methos shook his head and opened his eyes. "No. I'm sorry, but I didn't. Was she the one who taught you to take another's quickening?"

"No, she couldn't do it. She told me not to, not unless I had to -- but then she died! A man came and challenged her. And then he tried to challenge me, but I ran." Tears rolled down Bayla's face. She stared at Methos like he was the only person in the world, which for her, he might have been. 

Duncan felt a surge of sympathy for her. How long had she been on her own? With her teacher killed, she wouldn't have been fully trained. She'd have been unable to defend herself properly. She'd have been very vulnerable. He thought about Jonathan and the others in the hospital. She'd had a choice, though. Whatever had happened to her, she'd had the choice, and the others hadn't. 

Methos moved slowly. With languid strides, he walked until he pressed up against the fence. 

Like a mouse mesmerized by a snake, Bayla moved forward to the fence too, putting out a hand to grab a fistful of metal. 

"What else?" Methos asked softly. "You're taking those pre-immortals for a reason."

"Because," Bayla said. "It's better for them. They don't die. I know, I watched afterwards. It takes weeks, but they get better. They get to have _lives_. Normal lives. No one chasing them, threatening to kill them, every day, just because they exist. I hate this. _Hate_ it. Every day I wonder if it's my last. I can't fight. I'm too small to really fight, even if I knew how. So I run and run and run." She gave a wracking sob and pulled in a deep breath. "Next month I'm going to be twenty-five. And my teacher made it to the grand old age of thirty-five. And you tell me you've seen a _thousand_ years."

Methos nodded, but didn't interrupt her. 

"And he's made it to four hundred." She looked at Duncan and it felt like her eyes were burning a hole in his chest. "How nice for you. I bet you haven't gone all those years without a challenge or two. Do you run every time? Do you fight? If you fight, you must win, since you're standing there, alive and well." 

She glared at Duncan again and suddenly the weight of all those fights, all those absorbed quickenings, felt hefty and unwieldy inside his skin. "It still doesn't give you the right to prey on pre-immortals," he retorted. He wondered if those ghostly pre-quickenings burned inside her as much as a real quickening did. 

Methos shot him a glance, telling him to shut up, but it was too late. 

"Fuck you," Bayla said. "You're _killing_ other Immortals, and I'm _saving_ them. I'm doing them a _favor_ , keeping them alive, and with their families, and happy, and you have the _gall_ to tell me what right is? Being an Immortal is _torture_. Every day is pain and fear. I hate it, and I hate being afraid. And I hate you. Both of you." She spat the last words out. 

Something flashed, and Bayla turned and ran. 

Duncan took a running start at the fence, intending to chase Bayla down, and was at the top when he realized Methos wasn't right beside him. He paused and dropped back to the ground. 

Methos was crumpled at the base of the fence, eyes closed, with a dark red stain spreading over his shirt. Duncan turned his head and glimpsed Bayla as she vanished around a corner. 

"We need to come up with better plans," he told Methos, even though he was dead and couldn't hear him. 

~~~

"So what now?" Joe asked. 

Duncan took a long sip from his coffee, finishing it off. He refilled it from the carafe before answering. "That's the big question. I don't know." 

He'd been thinking on it for hours now, though. From the few quiet minutes when he'd waited for Methos to revive, standing next to him, protecting him, while letting Bayla run as fast and far as she could manage, to the time spent driving back to the loft. He'd thought about it while he'd called Joe and invited him over. He'd thought about it as he'd spoken with Gregor, checking in to see how the three at the hospital were faring. 

He'd thought about it when Laura had called to let him know that Bram had seen some very complex things in his spirit world. It had been an interesting conversation, and Laura had again invited him to revisit, enticing him with the thought of learning and new experiences. He was pretty sure he would go and see her, but not for the reasons she offered. She was a woman, and small, and she was obviously no one's victim. He didn't know her well yet, but he had a feeling she could offer a lot as a teacher--not just for him, but for Bayla, if they ever caught up with her again. 

Still, as he kept thinking about Joe's question, even with this possible plan, he didn't know if it would work out. Or that it was the wisest thing to do. As with a lot of things in life, it wasn't simple. It wasn't cut and dried.

Duncan wasn't the Immortal police. He sometimes had to deal with situations, because there was no one else who could, and his conscience wouldn't let him walk away, but that didn't mean it was his position to solve every dilemma out there, to right every wrong. 

He wanted a quiet life. An uncomplicated life. 

He looked up and caught Methos staring at him, a dark and fathomless string of thoughts in his eyes that mirrored the questions in Duncan's own mind. 

"After you've got a Watcher on her," Methos said, "we'll take it day by day. We don't have to decide tonight what's to be done. A hasty decision is usually a bad one, anyway. She has a unique gift, maybe a gift that's just developing--who knows what she'll be able to do if she lives a hundred years. Five hundred. In the meantime, though, she needs a new teacher.

"Who? You?" Joe laughed. "When was the last time you took on a student?" 

"Not recently enough to be very skilled at it, but I hear it's like riding a bike," Methos replied. He exchanged his mug for Duncan's and began sipping at the coffee. 

"Hey!" Duncan grabbed his mug back. "Refill your own mug." But he retrieved the carafe and gave Methos a refill anyway. 

"Thank you," Methos said. 

"Just ask next time."

"It's more fun to do it this way."

Joe broke in, "Okay, okay, but what are you going to do now? About her?"

"Nothing, Joe. I don't think there's anything to do. She's right that she isn't killing anyone--except by condemning them to death by old age, at the very least. And _how_ she's managing to do it won't be solved until we find that out from her." 

"So that's it? She's off the hook? Free to suck out everyone's life force indiscriminately?"

"We can't kill her for that -- she thinks she's doing them a favor. And who's to say she isn't? A lot of Immortals don't make it out of their first century."

"Yeah, but at least they get the option to give it a try."

"You want us to go and kill her for that?" Duncan grimaced. "What's the difference between what she's doing and what any of us do when we issue a challenge? She takes the quickening without killing them, which seems like a better deal." He'd had a lot of time to think about the whole situation and either way he looked at it, it didn't seem right. There was good and bad, both, about immortality and mortality, and he felt wholly incompetent to decide anything for anyone. He wasn't, however, above playing a little devil's advocate with Joe, to see what he said, to maybe finally figure out how he did feel about the entire situation.

"Yeah, if you're _her_."

"There's no answer, Joe," Methos said. "It's a bad business all around. I think the best we can do--if we find her again--is try to get her a new teacher. Being Immortal isn't fair. Some of us are older. Some of us are stronger. Some of us have talents that the others don't. That's just being human. We can't start trying to even the playing field by destroying any outliers." He snapped his fingers at Joe. "You're too cunning. Out you go." He snapped his fingers at Duncan. "You're too good a fighter, that's not fair. Out you go." He rolled his eyes and went back to staring down at the coffee in his cup. 

"But--"

Duncan held up his hand to forestall Joe's further commentary. "The stronger she gets, the more she'll be hunted."

"And the less she'll be ready for it," Methos added. "If she's not practicing. Not fighting."

"You two really are blasé about this. Doesn't it bother either of you that she's changing the course of people's lives?"

"I got off the phone with Gregor a little while ago," Duncan said. "Jonathan is doing very well. Gregor thinks he'll get discharged in the morning. He'll go home with his wife, who loves him. They're going to grow old together, maybe have a family together, instead of his having to leave her behind. She doesn't have to be a widow. That's what humans have. That's what you have, Joe. If it's suddenly not good enough, then what do we tell everyone out there that was never going to be Immortal, ever?" Duncan remembered that he still had Jonathan's diamond pendant, which he'd tucked away for safe-keeping. It'd be a good excuse to visit them in a day or two and see how they were faring.

Joe blew out a heavy breath. "God-damn, but you and your philosophy give me a headache."

"I've got something for headaches," Duncan said, keeping his voice level and serious. He retrieved the Irish Cream from the refrigerator, uncapped it, and added a generous amount to Joe's mug. "Drink that, and we can talk more about headaches in the morning." 

Methos pushed his mug forward and Duncan obliged him with a dollop. 

Joe raised his mug. "To headaches, and their cures."

Duncan poured a hefty amount into his own coffee. "I'll drink to that," he said. 

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Late-time Posted for my Engineer. :) 
> 
> The title comes from a Naruda poem. 
> 
> I've woven in a lot of names and elements from vampire stories. Dracula by Bram Stoker for sure, but also a few others.
> 
> Published originally in 2008. (Hence the lack of acknowledgement of smartphones, and the use of digital notekeepers.)


End file.
